


Special is a Word That Means Something

by badboy_fangirl



Category: Breakfast Club (1985)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-30
Updated: 2011-12-30
Packaged: 2017-10-28 13:01:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,933
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/308134
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/badboy_fangirl/pseuds/badboy_fangirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>On Monday morning, John Bender stood with his crew in the hallway of Shermer High School—five guys who he regularly skipped classes to go and smoke doobies with out behind the Ag building.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Special is a Word That Means Something

On Monday morning, John Bender stood with his crew in the hallway of Shermer High School—five guys who he regularly skipped classes to go and smoke doobies with out behind the Ag building. This morning however when Gabe Parsons made the usual suggestion to run out on first period, John shook his head negatively. He was waiting for something—more specifically some _one_ —to come through the doors at the end of the hall.

"Man, where did you lift _that_?" Gabe asked, his hand reaching up. Out of the corner of his eye John saw the motion and barely flinched away as his friend's finger flicked against the diamond stud nestled in his left earlobe.

John just smiled in his cryptic fashion. "Somebody gave it to me. Swear to God," he added when Gabe's lip curled into a cynical sneer.

*

He didn't see her until the four minute break between second and third period. He didn't have any classes with her, of course, but he had always been aware of when he'd passed her in the hall.

Now was not a normal time, which meant something.

She'd come looking for him. _Claire Standish had come looking for him, John Bender_. (She also didn't have any of her snotty-bitch friends with her.)

When their eyes met, he had a physical reaction. Pretty much every time he thought about her mouth since last Saturday, when he'd spent the whole fucking day staring at it, he could feel his johnson perking up. He wanted to nail her like no other girl he'd ever known. (And he'd known a few.)

Not just because she was a virgin, which he knew would make her so tight he'd probably come as soon as he got inside her; but if he nailed her that would mean something. _He_ would mean something to _her_ —something special, maybe?

Special wasn't the right word, but nothing else came to mind.

She glanced away from him, her eyes darting around the hall furtively, but then she took a deep breath and moved towards him.

"Bender!" Another of his crew, Mike Bradford, came out of fucking nowhere. "Parking lot?" he asked, and he patted his jacket pocket to show he had a stash on him.

"Later, man," John said, never taking his eyes off of her.

"Check ya," Mike said, passing by without noticing anything. He was swallowed up in the crowd, carried away with the flow, even as it brought her closer to John.

"Hi," she said, but he didn't really hear the word so much as he saw her mouth form it. He wasn't sure if it was the hallway noise, the fact that she didn't speak with much volume, or that the blood rushing through his body drowned out actual _sound_.

"Hey," he managed, shifting his textbook in front of his dick. He wondered if she would take off running if she knew how much he wanted her.

She smiled and kept walking.

For some reason it felt like the fucking Fourth of July in his chest.

*

The rest of the week included multiple meetings like that one; most of them occurred in the hallways between classes, and twice in the cafeteria when he walked past the table she sat at with Andrew and a few other asswipes he really didn't like.

The most memorable one was on Friday when he came out of the boys' head during seventh period and she was standing at his locker. (He had bonehead English in the Language Arts wing, which happened to be near his locker and the nicest of the three restrooms in this hellhole of a school.)

"Hi," she said again, which was all she'd said every time they'd spoken.

"Hey," he replied, like he had anything more original.

"I was just slipping a note in your locker," she said with a gesture. Apparently the letter was already inside his combination lockless locker. He hadn't stashed any weed in there all week because he didn't know where the hell his combo lock had gone, and they wouldn't give him another one at he office unless he coughed up $12.50.

He moved closer to her—to his locker, and asked around a smile, "What does it say?"

She smiled in return, and then her teeth sank into her bottom lip. Instantly, he was hard, and he nearly choked on a deep shuddering breath that rattled through his chest. _Fuck this girl_ , that was all he could think, all the fucking time. "You know how you have detention tomorrow?" she asked.

"Yeah," he responded, but it sounded like he'd been smoking because his voice was all rough.

"I thought I'd join you," she said, and a little giggle escaped her as she turned and bounced up the hall away from him.

*

So she came on Saturday, but Vernon made her leave because he knew she wasn't assigned detention (unlike John, who would be there for the rest of his natural fucking life). But after lunchtime, during the interminable hours when Vernon failed to check on him and the three new losers who were with him in the library, John made his way through the crawl space to the room where she'd kissed him the week before. (He gave them his doobage to keep them quiet as to his whereabouts.)

The reason he knew to go there was because the note she'd left in his locker suggested they should go there at some point during detention anyway. So even though she'd been forced to leave, he had a feeling that's where she'd gone.

She was waiting for him in there, the earphones of a walkman sitting on her head and a book in her hands. She moved off the desk she sat on so he could climb down from the ceiling. Their eyes met and he thought if they exchanged their standard _hi_ and _hey_ again, he might have to kill them both for being so lame. When she stepped forward, dragging the earphones from her head (which messed her red hair up slightly) and wrapped her hand around his neck (might as well have grabbed his johnson direct for the effect it had), he realized they weren't going to exchange words. At least not right away.

He was hard before her lips even touched his.

They made out on the desktop for what seemed like hours (hands under the shirt, _and_ over the underwear at first). He shucked his own shirt off over his head when he got too hot, and her hands traced his shoulders and arms shyly. Lips throbbing and numb from so much kissing, eventually he just eased his head back and watched her face while he played with her tits (under the bra with no protests), and then when he slid his other hand up under her skirt, she just bit her bottom lip and spread her thighs so he could get his fingers where they needed to go.

She was fucking _tight_ , so much so that using only one finger made her gasp and moan. He'd wormed his hand under the elastic of her panties, and she was hot and so wet he wanted to do some kind of celebratory dance. But then she came for the first time (he could tell by the combination of wonder and fear on her face), and her flushed skin made him hurt so much, he wanted some privacy to jerk himself off quickly. Claire had other ideas, though, and was surprisingly nimble as she scooped him out of his underwear and ran her thumb over the head of his cock. "Oh, fuck," he breathed, leaning his forehead against hers.

He needed fast and hard, because he was almost there as it was. But she whispered, "I don't really know how to do this," and his chest got as tight as his groin area. She was a cherry, in every way. No other guy had ever had her like this, and she'd never had any other guy's dick in her hand, though she seemed to take to his quite nicely.

She didn't need any skills because he could probably get off right now just with these thoughts; needing someone's touch was completely secondary, not to mention that _her_ touch was bound to make it a bit embarrassing. But then he remembered she had no basis for comparison, and so he leaned back so he was half-laying on the old desk they were sitting on. "Just...just," he gasped, motioning with his own curled fist and her fingers squeezed him more tightly and slid downward slowly before moving back up and then down again. He could barely think, the sensations were just too fucking good and she was right there, and it wasn't a daydream, it was fucking real—Claire—here, jerking him off.

At the last moment it occurred to him to wrap his own hand around hers just to direct the jizz so that it hit his stomach and not the wall and floor in front of them.

As his dick went limp, he realized his other hand was painfully gripping the table top beneath him and he was totally winded, his breathing harsh and jagged. It had been so good, he almost couldn't remember it, because it had also been terrifyingly fast.

Claire's hand stayed around him, just gently holding him and she said softly, "Don't consider any other girls, okay, John?"

It was only because she had no idea that it didn't happen this way every time that she even said that to him. He couldn't consider any other girls, because somehow his entire world had narrowed to her in the space of seven days.

He nodded in agreement, his eyes seeking hers as she used her sweater to wipe his semen from his bare stomach. "It makes it kinda special," she whispered, looking down at her task. "If we just do it with each other."

Her brown eyes didn't quite meet his. She smiled, a little hesitant quiver in her full, kiss-swollen lips, so he reached over and grabbed her by the back of her neck, sinking his hand into her hair to pull her mouth to his. "Just us, like this," he said by way of confirmation.

She pressed her lips to his and then against his cheek, his throat and finally to the diamond stud in his left ear. "Me and you," she whispered.

His johnson stirred, and because he glanced at it, her eyes followed his. She laughed and so did he, just a beat after her. "That means I like you. _A lot_ ," he said as her fingers tentatively reached back down to squeeze his hardening cock.

"I like you, too," she said, dragging her gaze back to his. They kissed again, deep, tongues plundering equally. John knew she liked him, he could always tell with girls, but especially since Claire was so pristine, he knew. The fact that she let him do any of this meant something. There was something different about _Claire_ liking him.

He'd normally back off in a situation like this—one where he was a little crazy out of control with his feelings (except it had never been quite like this before, so he was unsure how to navigate it) and with her being a cherry and all. Girls tended to get really attached to whoever took all their firsts.

But he wanted them all, and he would make sure they were all special. Because now that he thought about it some more, that was just the right word.


End file.
